


there are other things that can give your life meaning

by spideys_ass



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Multichapter, Mutual Pining, Tony dies, a fast slow burn, but is brought back eventually, but not entirely, mostly compliant with endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 02:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19053778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideys_ass/pseuds/spideys_ass
Summary: In those 14,000,605 future scenarios Stephen Strange saw, he never found his own.He never saw himself finding a book on how to bring people back from the dead.





	there are other things that can give your life meaning

**Author's Note:**

> Important Things to Note:  
> -Most things are accurate until the snap, but afterwards? obviously i bent a LOT  
> -Pepper and Tony’s engagement never worked out  
> -Tony never got the arc reactor surgery  
> -Also shoutout to my amazing friend Gen for being my own personal think tank!

He remembered the absent look on Tony Stark’s face, even while he was still alive, breathing his last breaths. He remembered the desperation of the mutate teenager, Peter Parker, as he frantically ran to his mentor, telling him they won, begging him to stay. When Colonel James Rhodes attempted to drag the boy away, to no avail, there was no competing with his superhuman strength. He remembered Captain Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, and Thor, all tentatively approaching the scene, listening to Peter’s pleas, their mind’s echoing his words for their fallen teammate. And how he stood, behind the family, but in front of all the other heroes— all strangers to the saviour of the universe, how he technically was a stranger too. He remembered the slurred “Peter” that fell out of Tony’s lips, his expression determined, he had more to say, but his eyes only becoming more and more distant. He remembered Tony Stark locking eyes with him at the last moment, the recognition slowly draining out. It was unnerving in that itself, to not be sure if he was being seen or not, to not know if he was still there, with his eyes focused as if he had to be, he had to be alive to be looking at him right? Right? He remembered turning away from the horrific scene, cheeks wet.

 

 

These were the things that kept him up at night. These were the thoughts that played on an endless loop in Stephen’s mind. 

 

 

Stephen shook himself out of the thoughts, redirecting his attention to the updating of the cataloging Wong was currently set upon. He checked the list of books that were supposed be on this shelf, swiping along the dusty spines. 

 

 

Wong had assigned him the restricted section to check, and had divvied up the rest of the vast library to the newer students, some absolutely loathsome at the idea, as he heard their dramatic sighs and groans, having to carry the misplaced books back to the main desk. They were not yet advanced enough to portal them back, or to levitate them there themselves. 

 

 

It had been two weeks since... well. Stephen had no idea how the world had been functioning after the snap, and after the return, as the masters of the mystic arts had isolated themselves away from it and any “distractions” again. It’s not like they didn’t have enough to do within their community anyway, what with an influx of new students, and so few experienced masters and practitioners left, many abandoning the practice in those five years. Others though, were beyond themselves signing up, searching for new purpose in a changed world. 

 

 

In a way they reminded Stephen of himself, as Kamar-Taj gave him a new direction, when his days of neurosurgery were over. He just hadn’t known it when he first arrived.

 

 

He hadn’t known what he was getting himself into when he arrived at the funeral either. He told himself he didn’t know why he had even gone. He almost didn’t get out of bed that day. It was the thought that, this is Tony Stark’s _funeral_ , the last time to honour the man, that did it. In reality, he just wanted one last glimpse of him, even if life had faded. 

 

 

The funeral was two days after. It was quiet and somber. It wasn’t like other funerals. They hadn’t done any of the cheesy things people do to feel better about the passing. They hadn’t shown his body, they hadn’t had any singing, they hadn’t had any preachers present, or any speeches given. 

 

 

It was Tony Stark, each person knew what he meant to them, specifically. As he said, “You know who I am.” It was true. No presentation could’ve been given on his life, or on his worth, that would’ve had an impact. 

 

 

The remaining Avengers buried the coffin. It was hot rod red. The four men carried on painstakingly careful, but quick. Returning, Thor, Clint, and Bruce, became a part of the crowd, eyes absolutely shining, while Steve held up the arc reactor, quickly addressing everyone before setting it down in the ground. 

 

 

Stephen squeezed his eyes closed, shaking his head, as if recalibrating himself. He loathed thinking about the funeral. However, it wasn’t uncommon for his thoughts to revisit there. 

 

 

It was hard. It was hard to put it out of his head once he’d started thinking of him. He constantly berated himself on his grief. He knew him for, what? A few days at most, en route to and on Titan. The countless years he’d spent viewing possible outcomes of the war didn’t count...

 

 

But to Stephen’s heart it didn’t seem to matter.

 

 

He’d spent the first few days doing nothing. Locked up in his chambers in the Sanctum, he spent time using energies to project his memories of those few days, or merely thinking. Of course he had a photographic memory, but it was nice to physically watch. Basic human needs Stephen just pressed pause on. A week in, Wong told him he had to stop. He hadn’t wanted to. But it was his duty, he claimed. 

 

 

Wong had been doing his most to keep Stephen busy, which, was thoughtful at least. But time just flew by, Stephen unusually inattentive with little motivation to see to any of his usual duties. Duties he unintentionally shirked these past five years. Fortunately mystic threats had been balanced during the time as well. 

 

 

Stephen sighed, portalling back another book to the pile on the front desk that hadn’t appeared on the list of books assigned to this shelf. Apparently misplaced library books were equivalent to the most terrifying villainy, in Wong’s mind, to have them sort through all this. This work was boring, but he supposed he had nothing better to do. There was a gap in between two books, and Stephen searched for the title that should’ve been in between the two, circling the title that didn’t appear, on the scroll, moving on and continuing to skim the spines. 

 

 

Stephen’s fingers froze over the title of the next book.

 

 

“An Advanced Guide to Necromancy, Thaumaturgy, and Awakenings in Their Relation to the Mystic Arts”.

 

 

Huh?

 

 

He turned, his eyes frantically searching for the other students or Wong, and ensuring no one was paying attention to his actions, he opened a portal, the book falling through and landing on his nightstand in the New York Sanctum, before immediately closing. 

 

 

Stephen took a minute to think, his hand subconsciously rubbing at his temples. He leaned against the bookcase, thinking as his mind exploded with bunches of possible ideas all with only one outcome: Bring Tony Stark back. 

 

 

Stephen erased the book’s title from Wong’s scroll. It was like it never existed. 

 

 

He carried out the rest of the day’s cataloguing with renowned energy

 

 

۞ <3  ⎊

 

 

As he closed the door to his quarters in the Sanctum, he made certain he locked it, multiple times, and he even cast a spell securing all ways of access into it were blocked, and another ensuring none could spy on his actions. The cloak pulled itself off his shoulders, but of course, continued to follow him. Stephen looked back at it teasingly, out of the corner of his eye, bringing his finger to his lips. “Shhh...” 

 

 

Then he remembered the last time he held that singular finger up. 

 

 

Stephen rushed over to his bed, where he adjusted himself for the long night of absorbing material ahead. Sitting crosslegged, and with a tiny lamp above to provide light, he lifted the hefty book from its place on the nightstand and onto his lap. He let his fingers roam over the front cover of the textbook gingerly, testing the roughness of the aged fabric, briefly allowing himself a moment to think of desperate brown eyes, then passionately snapped open to the first page. 

 

 

Yeah, okay. He was going to do this. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys have any suggestions as to tags, constructive criticism, can point out any errors, questions, or comments, i’d love to hear them!!
> 
> I’m going to try to upload once weekly, so stay tuned!


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